Hostile Waters: The End of War
by Daniel Hayne
Summary: 20 years ago the world was at war. 20 years have been spent making the world a better place. The Last War on Earth it was called, and these are tales from that war, for some the Last War, never ended. Rated M for conflict and death.


**Prologue:** _**How the World Ended**_

The world was broken; the system had become so corrupted and decadent that it now only served those that had their hands in the coffers. They were so wrapped up around themselves they didn't notice the world collapsing around them until the people stood up, and started to beg for answers. The people started to question why they were being told what to do? Why they should listen to those whose orders were of ill purpose? The questions became ideas, the ideas became a force, and a symbol for people came to gather round. Whilst the governments thought themselves capable of dealing with a few mal-contents, they failed to perceive that the final nail in the coffin of their dominance was being placed, with the hammer about to strike.

Nano-technology had come into feasibility, tiny machines that could build anything desired, be it a set of warm clothes from tattered rags, to cars and planes from rusted hulks. Rotted food could be made new again, and water never tasted so pure after the nano-bots had removed the taints it contained. The governments seized the technology for themselves, an attempt to insure their dominance over the world. As they were quick to create weapons with the technology, many among the populace began to openly revolt against them, claiming that the technology could be used to greater effect. Using this as a pretext, the governments declared martial law on their lands. They forced rationing upon their citizens, they restricted travel, determined to leave no place for their opposition to garner a voice. People rioted, fighting the very soldiers deployed 'for their protection'. Riots became street battles, street battles became city wide conflicts. The conflicts stirred into full blown civil war. Soldiers of the state, torn between their duty and their people, were split, some joining the "rebels", the rest determined to be loyal. The Old Guard of governments watched as the world began to slip from their grasp, and like all those in power, they sought to keep it at any cost.

The Old Guard, formed from governments of 'elected' officials, the old death bringers, war lovers, the drug makers and the old men that lived off theft and hate raised armies, from those uncomfortable with the change that was taking over the world, millions strong who were prepared to kill to defend the old world order. A world civil war erupted, the down trodden populace fought back against their governments. Wresting examples of the nano-technology away from the oppressors, they created their own weapons, decreeing that they would be used only as long as there was conflict upon this world. Using the nano-bots, units of any size became feasible; from a simple push bike, to the huge combat vessels. During the final stages of the war, the new order's 'magic bullet' was the Antaeus class of assault carrier. Huge mega-ships, the carriers were mobile factories, using nano-tech assemblers to build machines of war, to fight against the desperate tactics of their opponents. The armies of the free people of the world pushed the old guard back, island hopping to their last territory, the Antaeus cruisers leading the charge. The sophisticated war-machines brought with them creation engines filled with nano-bots, capable of making virtually any craft or device they needed as they sailed the oceans of the world. As the spear tip, the eight Antaeus vessels led the charge against the old guard, forcing them back, off continents and into the island chains around the globe. One by one the islands slowly fell to the relentless assault. Showing their desperate tactics, the Old Guard bombed cities in attempts to scare the populace to surrender their war. Antaeus 04 was the first to go, the vessel being struck a mortal wound during a pitched battle. The final desperate stand of the fossilised establishment took place in the Pacific Ocean. As the last Antaeus carrier in the Pacific, Antaeus 00, the prototype, the oldest of the carriers, took the final assault against an insanely desperate enemy.

**Chapter One:** _**Antaeus Falling**_

The screeching of jet engines as they soared over head, the sound echoing around the sky as the planes themselves fought like desperate animals, determined to defeat their opponents. The whir of helicopter blades buzzed all around, the pilots at the helms fighting a pitched battle to protect the wounded carrier from the worsening assault. Scarab repair tanks pulsed futilely as they tried to repair the mortal wound in the carrier's hull. The bridge was awash with the sounds of sirens, the klaxon sounding it's dirge across the space. The bridge crew were rushing about, gathering reports from the crew below deck. As he watched, the Captain took stock of his crew. _None of them are panicking, _he thought. _They know the ship is doomed, but they are continuing their duty regardless_. The missile strike had been sudden and brutal, the warning sirens sounding seconds before the barrage had struck the ship. The Captain didn't know how many of his crew had died below decks, but he knew that his ship was beyond saving, his Antaeus was sinking slowly beneath the waves, and every stray shot and missile sent towards the vessel only worsened the damage. The job would not be unfinished however; he had brought his ship and his people here to end this war, to finally bring about the end of the madmen's rule. "Lieutenant, do we have conformation on those missile silos?" he shouted over the din, his voice calm despite the activity around him. Looking at his screen, the gunnery lieutenant shouted his reply "Yes sir, we have a battery lock." His voice wavered as a report flashed across his screen. "Gunnery crews are reporting that shell replication has been destroyed, what shells we have loaded in the cannons are it sir!" Whispering a curse, unheard under the klaxons, the Captain turned to his command console, and after a few taps, he cut the klaxon short. Turning back, "Bring the cannons to bear, everything we have left." He ordered. Now the sirens were gone, the sounds of battle were drifting undiminished through the room. Another sound, one of cracked gears and damaged servos grinding and creaking, scrapped itself along the ears of the bridge crew as the main guns slowly rotated into position. The guns ended their transition, and the long thick cannon began their angling assent to their target vectors. With a splutter and whine, the guns finished aligning and sat ready. "Guns at triangulation and a firing solution has been acquired Captain" the gunnery officer proclaimed, "awaiting your order, sir." The Captain stared out of the viewing window, the cacophony of the battle raging around the carrier and the island would have been deafening if not for the distance from the bridge. The screen zoomed in wherever his gaze fell, he watched Hornet attack choppers buzzing at the port fore of the ship, fending off attacks from the older model Apache combat choppers used by the old guard. Vulture recon strike jets were powering past the island's anti air hard points, whilst Rhino tanks and ground troops smashed against the beach defences, as he blinked a Rhino exploded into shrapnel, the huge lumbering bulk of a Mammoth tank with the twin 125mm cannon barrels smoking after their discharge, was slowly advancing along to beach to head them off. As if in retaliation, a Vulture banked, strafing the huge armoured hulk, the strike jet's pilot placing armoured piercing rounds through the tanks left tread, snapping the links and leaving the monster dead in the sand. Tracking the jet as it came; the tank loosed a volley of missiles, clipping the strike jets wings, forcing it out of control, and it crashed into the fortress on the cliffs above. Taking the initiative given to them, the Rhinos retort earned vengeance for their fallen comrade. The Captain focused his sight on the fortress his army was assaulting, and after a moment of anticipation, gave the order: "Fire!"

The order was bounced through the ship, from the Captain to the gunnery lieutenant, along the internal comm. lines to the gun chief at the cannon controls. "Fire!" he bellowed, shouting a warning to his men, his fist slamming down upon the firing switch. In response the great guns on the ships upper decks let loose hell, a blaze of fire and tungsten barrelled skywards, the shock waves distorting the water around the ship, sending it rippling over the nearby beach. Seconds later, the shells struck their targets, some striking the armoured doors of the silos, the rest punching through and shredding the freshly prepared missiles within. Fire and shrapnel ripped through the chambers like sound echoes in a cave, snaking their way along the missile transport system and into the storage chambers. Missiles detonated as the fire reached them, adding to the growing blast wave, battering men and blast doors into chunks. Detonation after detonation racked the fortress, each one building up upon those before, until the explosion erupted through the very ground. Blasting away the very sand and rocks, the fortress was obliterated; the ground itself rent open, leaving a gaping wound half a mile wide. The beach was torn asunder, with tanks and troopers sent flipping away as the ground erupted beneath their feat. Vultures were sent spiralling out of control, the shock wave lashing out, smashing them from the air. It reached to Antaeus, crashing against the hull with a resounding crack. The screen on the bridge imploded, with shrapnel being flung into every person in the chamber. The Captain, peppered with broken glass was flung backwards, his ravaged body colliding with his command chair. The already fatal wound from the missile strike, where sea water was flooding in was rent further, filling the lower decks in minutes. Cries of evacuation were made, sailors and engineers yelling at others to get out before the water got them. With what systems were left, the vessel's comm. relay transmitted a brief SOS. A few seconds of the code were sent, before the transmitter shorted out, a power surge reaping a heavy toll upon the main systems. As the vessel's systems overloaded, the creation engine locked itself down, sealing itself inside the chamber in which it resided. As the island died, so did the Antaeus 00. As the island burnt itself to hot fiery cinders, the mighty vessel sank into cold icy darkness. Sea water flooded into the explosion scar, dowsing the flames within, and the vessel sank further, the once noble prow striking into the ocean floor deep beneath the war torn surface.

_**~#~#~#~#~**_

_**What do you think? It has been a while since I have posted anything, I know, but after reading the single Hostile Waters fan-fic on here, I couldn't help but write something to go with the series section. To anyone that has played the game, how do you like my version of the Death of Antaeus? And to those that haven't, I hope I portrayed enough of an idea for you to imagine it. **_

_The title is a work in progress at the moment, I've been typing with no title in mind for a few hours now, any ideas would be great! Thanks for reading, and comments, adjustments, corrections or reviews are always wanted and greatly appreciated! - Dan_


End file.
